


When the Night Breaks

by hithelleth



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D/s undertones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a bad idea; probably the worst Bellamy has had, in the last few days at least. But they might all die or worse before the day is over, so why not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Night Breaks

“I’m sorry about your arm.”

Bellamy apologises for the gunshot wound because Clarke has a plan which rests on the Ice King’s cooperation. Considering it is Clarke’s plan and those tend to fail spectacularly, it will most likely blow up in their faces. But it’s not like he has a better one — or any, for that matter — and they are trying out this _together_ thing, so he goes with it.

Hence, the apology.

“Makes us even,” the other man says, not shrugging it off, but not making a big deal out of it, either.

Bellamy appreciates the acknowledgement and the notion of equality that comes with it, albeit begrudgingly.

The statement reminds Bellamy of the scar on his thigh that still itches and burns, depending on how bad of a day it is, though, and it comes to life as if on cue.

Maybe it is that burning tinge of the not-so-old injury or the knowing expression in the other man’s eyes that seem to pierce him right through and require of Bellamy to put conscious effort into not squirming, why he ends up pressed into the hallway corner by the Ice King.

_He might have stumbled through Arcadia on his way to somewhere he can't quite recall now, half asleep with exhaustion and, well, lack of sleep, and crashed right into the other man when he rounded the corner._

Things are a little blurry from there on and Bellamy can't exactly think straight just now, not with Roan’s mouth hot on his, their tongues clashing and teeth scraping — he can taste blood, not sure whether it is his own or not — as he gives as good as he gets. He fists his hands into the grounder’s clothing, possibly to push him away, possibly to pull him closer, although their bodies are pressed flush against each other as it is, the other man’s leg wedged between Bellamy’s, and he can feel the man’s erection digging into his thigh, his own cock swelling in his pants at the pressure against his groin, but when Bellamy grinds against Roan, the man stops his movement and keeps him still against the wall with a firm hand, making Bellamy growl into his mouth.

When they pull apart for air, Bellamy scowls. “Fuck you,” he spits, panting.

In response, the bastard laughs, low and throaty, and the sound goes straight to Bellamy’s cock, making it twitch.

“I got the idea that I’d be the one fucking you,” the Ice King counters, and, _fuck_ , does that do things to Bellamy.

“But I am open to the other option if I'm wrong,” the man amends when Bellamy doesn't respond.

Bellamy swallows thickly before he speaks, “Get on with it, then.”

The man grins. “Eager, aren’t you?”

Bellamy would love to knock that smirk off his face, but his brain is short-circuiting because they are standing all too close, the man’s hand still on Bellamy’s ribs, pressing him against the wall, and Bellamy’s fingers are still entangled into his shirt.

Roan — if they are doing this, he supposes he can think of him as Roan — leans in further, close enough to nearly brush his lips against Bellamy’s, sending a shiver down his spine.

“We might want to take it somewhere else?” Roan murmurs. “And I’m interested in making this pleasurable, so if you got anything…”

“Yeah,” Bellamy’s voice comes out as a rasp, god fucking damn it, and he grits his teeth, pissed with himself for being reduced to this want, as he pushes past Roan and stalks down the hallway to his room.

_His quarters, he remembers now, that was where he was going when all this started to get a few hours of sleep before they set out at dawn. He supposes the other man had the same intention but must have gotten lost in the criss-cross corridors of Arcadia on the way to the quarters they had shown him — and what the heck was he even doing on his own? Granted, they couldn_ _’t exactly throw him in a cell if they wanted to stay on his good side. And besides, there wasn’t much that Roan could spy on that he hadn’t already seen._

Bellamy doesn’t look back to see if Roan follows, not that he has to, the other man’s steps echoing behind his own, his presence fucking radiating behind him.

This is a bad idea; probably the worst Bellamy has had, at least in the last few days. He could still change his mind. Probably should.

Still, they might all be dead or as good as — chipped and turned into the AI’s puppets — in less than a day, so what the hell.

Roan closes and latches the door behind them as they get to Bellamy’s quarters while Bellamy retrieves a jar of multipurpose ointment that functions perfectly well as lube — tried and tested — from his nightstand’s drawer and throws it on the bed.

Then he turns to Roan, pausing.

The other man closes the distance between them with the moves and expression of a cat playing with a mouse, and the fact that Bellamy is the mouse in this scenario is not something he would expect to find a turn-on, but, damn, he does.

“You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

Roan’s question comes unexpected, in such a contrast with the charged atmosphere that Bellamy frowns for a moment before he answers.

“No.”

“Good,” Roan nods. “Me neither.” He has crowded into Bellamy’s personal space again, tugging on his jacket now. “Better get out of these clothes then.”

Roan slips Bellamy’s jacket off his shoulders, but they end up undressing each by himself, because this isn’t some grand romance about to commence, and Bellamy hasn’t figured the grounder wear and all its knots yet.

It knocks the wind out of Bellamy when he finally sees the other man naked, all those sculpted muscles that make his mouth water — and he knows that despite thinking of himself as a man of some strength, a fighter, he wouldn’t have a chance to overpower this man in a fair fight — while he all but blushes in turn at the appreciative look Roan runs over him with slow deliberation.

“Turn around,” Roan says at last. He puts his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, giving him more a nudge than a push to emphasise his words, and Bellamy shudders at the contact.

“On the bed, on your knees.”

The way Roan says it, low and quiet, makes Bellamy _obey_ — fuck — without a second thought, a wave of desire washing over him when he settles in the position, resting on his elbows, knees bent, his ass in the air, and it should feel vulnerable, humiliating even, being exposed like this, as Roan gets on the bed behind him, but there is something in offering himself like this that also feels good, makes him let go of everything but the fiery want that coils inside him, ready to consume him.

“Pretty ass,” Roan comments as he touches him, with a hint of teasing in his voice, and Bellamy is about to shoot back something smart when Roan’s slick finger pushes at his butthole, sliding slowly past the ring of muscle, in and out, rotating and searching. When he finds his prostate, all coherent thought leaves Bellamy and he can only give himself up to the sensations while Roan adds a second and a third finger.

Bellamy’s cock aches with the need for friction, but when he makes a move to touch himself, Roan catches his wrist.

“Uh-uh. Not yet.” Roan drags Bellamy’s hand back up above his head. “Keep it there.”

There is a promise in his voice, so Bellamy does as he is told, gathering fistfuls of sheet in his fists to hold on to, moaning with loss when Roan’s fingers are gone. It takes only a few moments before Roan’s hands are back on him, parting his ass cheeks to allow him easier access as he lines himself up and pushes inside, filling him just as slowly as earlier with his fingers, and it still feels almost too much until Bellamy adjusts and grits, “Are you gonna fuck me already or not?”

“About to,” the other man grates and he makes good on his word, too, starting to thrust into Bellamy, hitting his prostate and sending sparks of white-hot pleasure right into his cock that is now leaking pre-cum on his sheets, Roan’s fingers digging into his hips, surely leaving bruises, not that Bellamy minds, because that feels good, too.

Then Roan props himself on his forearms, his chest against Bellamy’s back, changing the angle, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Bellamy sees stars, rocking his hips against the other man’s thrusts as Roan sucks bruises into his shoulder, the sharp pain so good it makes Bellamy beg for more and more and then finally, finally, Roan wraps his fingers around Bellamy’s cock, and it takes only a few hard strokes and Bellamy is coming, shaking, muffling his cry against the mattress, his mind going blank as Roan fucks him through it until his rhythm breaks and he lets go of Bellamy’s cock, collapsing against his back as he empties himself inside him, biting into the crook of Bellamy’s neck to silence himself.

After a little while, Roan pulls out and they lie side by side, Bellamy on his stomach and Roan on his back catching their breaths, until Bellamy gathers enough strength to reach for his discarded shirt and clean himself up, tossing it to the other man afterwards.

“You might just as well stay,” Bellamy mumbles, pulling the blanket over himself, as the other man stands up. Mostly because he is too tired to show Roan to his quarters and it is only for a few hours, really.

Just before sleep claims him, he feels the mattress shift under Roan’s weight and with that, as surprising as it may be, comes a sense of relief.

***

He wakes up to the sound of pounding on his door and Clarke’s voice.

“Bellamy! Come on, wake up! We’re leaving in an hour.”

Bellamy groans and has to clear his throat before he can respond, his voice rough.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake,” he grumbles. “Geez! Good morning to you, too!” he adds, for good measure.

He can almost see Clarke rolling her eyes on the other side of the door, but instead of saying back something sarcastic, she asks, “Will you go wake up Roan?”

So, either she is clueless, or she has figured it out and is going for subtle.

“Got it.”

She doesn’t reply, which leaves him to face the fact that there is, in fact, Roan in his bed, and he can feel his eyes on him even before he turns to look at him. His half-hard morning wood stiffens in seconds at the sight, and Roan’s face slowly breaks into a smirk as he peers at Bellamy through hooded eyelids.

They don’t have time for anything but jacking each other off, hard and fast, Bellamy’s forehead on Roan’s shoulder and Roan’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just enough, before washing up and getting dressed.

They don’t speak more than a few words and then head together towards the common area to join the others in silence, but it feels just fine like that. Maybe more than fine.

Certainly more than fine, Bellamy thinks wryly. He is sore in all the right places and — well — well-fucked.

So maybe they all end up either dead or AI zombies before the day is over. Maybe the next time he sees the Ice King, they are going to be on the opposite sides again and one will try to kill the other and maybe even succeed.

But maybe, just maybe, if they live through this plan — and then for some time longer — well, there might be a few possibilities Bellamy wouldn’t be averse to at all.

**Author's Note:**

> As usually I managed to angst up the smut. Figures. 
> 
> So, I’m working on another, longer Bellamy/Roan story, but when seeing the gifs of the apology scene from the 3x15 clip, I thought it was too good to let it pass but it wouldn't work with that story and it wouldn't leave me alone, either, so of course I had to write something else. I even put off watching the actual episode until I got this written. ~~The sacrifices I make for writing. ;)~~
> 
> Anyway, do tell me what you think. Comments are always welcome.


End file.
